


The Death of Hope

by Kayljay



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dubious Consent, Incest, M/M, Over 2000 Words, Sex, Slash, implied rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-17
Updated: 2007-02-17
Packaged: 2017-10-05 10:04:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayljay/pseuds/Kayljay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam turns evil, but Dean refuses to give up on his brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Death of Hope

**Author's Note:**

> Written during Season Three.  
> Beta: eponin10--all other mistakes are my own.  
> To dimturien, who gave me the plot bunny and made sure it bit my ankle.

It had been a bitch of a month.

Five hunts, back to back, with too much mileage and too little sleep between them. They'd both been mainlining caffeine, but now not even that was enough to keep them going.

So despite a promising lead in Illinois, Dean surrendered after the latest salt and burn and found them the nearest motel. He dropped his bag next to the closest bed and fell face down across it. He lay drifting on the edge of sleep, but there was something niggling on his brain. Not danger. A sense of something not quite right.

Sam was pacing.

Dean turned on his side and through bleary eyes watched his brother move back and forth between the walls of the room.

Sam didn't pace. Sam stared quietly out the windows of the Impala so deep in thought Dean was sometimes sure he could hear the wheels turning in his brother's head. Sam studied the ceiling at night as if the answers to his questions were written there. Sam sat in front of the computer tracking down leads until he was exhausted. Sam even got in Dean's face and punctuated his points during an argument with sweeping gestures of his long arms.

But Sam didn't pace.

Dean sighed and rolled the rest of the way over. Something was off, and he knew he wouldn't sleep until he had solved the reason for this out-of-character behavior.

"Sammy. What's going on?"

His brother pinched the bridge of his nose and for a long moment Dean waited for Sam to crumble under the pain of a vision. Instead he reached into his bag and pulled out the flask of holy water and took a long swallow.  
Nothing happened.

Sam calmly screwed the cap back on the flask, returned it to his bag and dropped onto the bed. He lifted his eyes and the calm fatalism they held made Dean's stomach churn.

"I think it's starting. Just like Dad warned you," he said quietly.

Dean was silent for a long moment, studying his brother's eyes. Finally he leaned across the distance between the two beds and grasped Sam's shoulder. "That drink of holy water didn't burn you. You're just exhausted, Sammy. We haven't had a good night's sleep for weeks. If I didn't think I'd fall asleep in my beer, I'd be spoiling for a fight. You're the college boy; you know what a lack of sleep can do. Go get a shower and sleep for twelve hours. We'll find a real restaurant when we get up and eat something healthy for a change."

Sam's morose mood seemed to lift a bit and he gave Dean a small smile. "You never eat healthy. When was the last time you ate vegetables?"

"Hey, french fries count."

Sam snorted and headed into the shower.

Dean was asleep before he finished.

***

Sam didn't bring up the subject again. They both agreed they needed some time off. Exhaustion was only going to get them killed. Dean toyed with the idea of getting out of the States, even if was only to go to Mexico, enjoy the sun on a beach and drink mind-numbing amounts of tequila. Knowing their luck, he mused, they'd find a place suffering from chupacabra attacks. _The next time the hunting is slow,_ Dean promised himself.

He kept a close eye on Sam. Over a year on the road with his brother should have softened the intensity of his protectiveness. Yet even Sam's improved mood had not silenced his father's voice. _Take care of your brother._

Then one morning Dean woke to the click of a shackle closing around his wrist.

Groggy, he struggled to process the reality of the wide band of steel that held him captive and the length of chain attached to it. The links snaked over the bed and down its side before it curled out of sight in the bathroom. Dean groaned.

"Dude, so not funny. Take this thing off. It's way too early in the morning for practical jokes."

He felt Sam settle on the bed and Dean held his arm out in his brother's general direction. A lingering kiss settled above the edge of the shackle.  
That kiss woke him more effectively than a bucket of cold water.

"What the hell?" Dean shifted quickly to a sitting position and gave his brother his best pissed-off glare.

The smile was completely foreign on Sam's face yet Dean knew it all too well. He'd seen it on other faces. Things he'd fought and sent to hell.

"I warned you, Dean. Dad warned you. But you really couldn't believe it, could you? Your little brother turning evil?"

Dean shook his head in denial.

"Sammy, we can fight this. We'll find some way. I'll call Bobby . . . "

"This isn't something you can cure with an exorcism, Dean." He jiggled the flask of holy water and let a few drops trickle over his skin. Dean's breath hitched and cold fear coalesced in his bones. "There isn't any way to stop me," he said and let out a chuckle. "Well, there is, but whether you can bring yourself to do it–that's another story." He plucked a pistol from his duffle and studied it before returning his attention to Dean. He held it out and raised his eyebrows.

"No. I told you I'd die to save you. I meant it."

Sam leaned closer and brushed his brother's lips with his own in a quick caress. "I'm looking forward to you using every weapon in your arsenal to save me, big brother."

Sam slung his bag over his shoulder and moved across the room. He placed the gun on the table, giving it a little spin with his finger.

"To even the odds. In the meantime, I'll give you some time to consider your alternatives."

He picked up the Impala's keys. "Don't worry, Dean, I'll keep the blood off the upholstery."

***

Dean spent the rest of the day searching every inch of the motel room he could reach for something to use as a lock pick. There was the gun Sam had left behind. He was able to retrieve it by straining at the end of the chain, pulling it toward him with the tips of his fingers.  
He wasn't quite desperate enough for the attention shooting the lock open would bring. Calling for help wasn't an option either. Sam had pulled the phone out of the wall and taken his cell.

There was food. The chain was long enough to allow him access to the bathroom and both beds, but the door was too far away. Caged and frustrated, it was his turn to stalk the room.

***

Days blended into weeks. Sam was never gone for more than a few days at a time, but every time he returned in the dead of night, blood was spattered across his clothes and skin.

"Are you ready to stop me yet?" Sam always asked with a quiet voice as he stood at the foot of Dean's bed.

Dean's response was always the same too. He'd shake his head and meet his brother's eyes squarely. Sam would smile as if indulging a child and head off to the shower before climbing into bed.

Then came the night Sam crawled in next to him and curled against Dean's back.

"Remember how we used to do this when we were kids? When Dad was out on a hunt?" Sam whispered in his ear, gliding his hand over Dean's torso.

"Get off me, Sam." He growled and pulled away, but Sam reeled him back in with an arm locked around his throat.

"We did more than hold each other." He tightened his arm when Dean struggled. "I liked the way your hands felt on my body. You liked the way I made you come."

"We were kids, Sam. We outgrew that."

"No. You outgrew it. Back then, I didn't have the nerve to tell you I still wanted you. I never stopped wanting you, Dean. We can have that again. No more meaningless one-night stands."

"Messing with my head ain't going to work, Sam. Whatever has its hooks in you? I'm going to dig it out. Now let me up."

Sam chuckled. "Nothing's ever easy with you, is it, Dean? That wall you've thrown up is so high and thick nothing and no one can put a chink in it. I offer you a closeness you haven't had since we were kids and you throw it back in my face. So here's another offer. You give me what I want," he said, reaching down and gently squeezing Dean's cock, "and my next victim gets away. Think of the lives you could save if I'm too tired to hunt."  
Dean shuddered under the assault.

"Sammy," he said with a surprisingly steady voice, "if you're that horny, I'm sure I could find you a willing girl."

Sam squeezed his throat until his vision blurred around the edges.

"I won't make this offer again, Dean. You fuck me or I kill. It doesn't get much simpler."   
Sam released him and rolled off the bed. As Dean struggled to breathe again, Sam picked up the car keys, twirled them around his finger, and waited expectantly

"You win," Dean whispered at last.

***

"Yes," Sam moaned as Dean moved inside him. "God, you're so good. You always were."

Dean shivered as Sam's body tightened around him. So different from when they were children and had only used their hands and mouths on each other. So different from being with a woman.

He shouldn't want Sam this much. It was twisted and perverted, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"Dean," Sam's voice was tight and desperate, "harder."

He pushed Sam's knees to his chest and obeyed.

Sam gasped as if gut-stabbed and arched under him. Come splashed over their bellies.

Sam's muscles spasming around his cock were enough to bring him off. The only thing he was sure of besides the pleasure rocking his body was Sam's name rolling off his tongue.

***

"Dean." Sam's voice sounded so normal. He could almost believe, as the bliss filtered away, that the past several weeks had been a nightmare. "You never stopped wanting me, did you?"

"No, Sammy, I never did."

"Then why?"

Dean turned his head. Sam's brow was furrowed. And as he had done all his life, he ruthlessly squashed the urge to stroke his brother's brow smooth again.

"Dad found out."

The answer seemed to satisfy Sam.

***

The interlude lasted almost two weeks. Whatever evil had Sam under its control seemed to weaken under as their physical and emotional bond strengthened. Dean almost believed they might defeat it.

When he first woke up alone, he thought Sam might have gone for coffee. Morning turned to afternoon and dread rose in his chest.

Night came and Sam returned with a woman at gunpoint.

"Sam–"

His brother shook his head slowly and raised the gun to the woman's temple.

"No need to get up, Dean, but I will introduce you. Nicole, meet my brother. He's a little stubborn about trying new things, but I've been having better luck lately getting him to see how pleasurable some things can be."

"Let her go, Sammy. No one else was included in our deal."

"Oh, you thought I was going to share you," Sam said and grinned. "My mistake. I should have been clearer. I've decided you needed an example of what would happen if you did break our bargain."

"You don't have to do this. You know I won't leave you."

"But you denied me before because Dad told you it was wrong. As if he was in any position to judge us. We were already fucked up because of the crazy life he made us live. What's a little perversion between brothers?"

He stroked the barrel of the gun across the woman's cheekbone and forced her to sit on the bed. "Now, Nicole, stay still like a good girl."

Sam tucked the gun away and retrieved a leather case.

"I love this knife," he said, admiring the double edge of the sickle-shaped blade. "I rarely get to use it; guns are more efficient in our line of work."

"Yeah," Dean replied, raising the gun Sam had left him at the start of this nightmare, "they are. Drop the knife, Sam."

"You won't kill me. You can't."

"Maybe not, but I can still hurt you."

"A gunshot would draw too much attention. Get the police involved, Dean, and we'll never breathe fresh air again."

Dean saw Nicole move out of the corner of his eye. Sam folded under her well-aimed kick behind his knee. She scrambled across the bed, trying to escape.

Sam's empty hand reached back and clamped around her ankle. As he dragged her off the bed, Dean crashed into Sam's back and with a twist of his wrist, tried wrench the blade away. Sam slammed the back of his head hard enough against Dean's face to stun him. Through hazy double vision, Dean watched the blade swing back and knew he wouldn't have a second chance. He pulled the trigger and watched Sam collapse. The knife skidded across the carpet.

Nicole didn't need any encouragement to flee the room.

"Sammy?"

Dean sighed in relief when Sam groaned. Carefully he rolled his brother over. Sam coughed and blood trickled over his lips and down his chin.

"Son of a bitch," he wrestled Sam into an upright position. What should have been a clean shot through the shoulder had punctured Sam's lung instead. He searched his brother's pockets and found the key to the shackle.

Sliding an arm under Sam's shoulders, he attempted to lift him to his feet.

"You still think you can save me." Sam muttered. "Greater than the death of flesh is the death of hope."*

"Shut up. We can argue about this in the car. I told you I wouldn't leave you and I meant it."

***

Dean cruised at the legal limit until the police passed them, headed for the motel. As soon as the lights faded in the rearview mirror, he hauled ass.

Sam coughed and spat blood out the window the whole way.

Somewhere on the road, Dean stopped to dig the first aid kit out of the trunk and tried to stem the bleeding with a pressure bandage. He pressed layers of gauze over the wound, watching blood soak through each one. Sam finally slapped his palm over Dean's fingers.

"The Impala needs a driver more than I need a nurse. Get us back on the road."

By the time they reached another motel, Sam breath was coming in short painful gasps. Barely conscious, he struggled to walk with Dean's support.

Dean saw the blood flow from the wound had stopped, but Sam was soaked in sweat, far too pale, and was still coughing up blood.

Sam was bleeding internally and Dean knew he would drown in his own blood if nothing was done.

The hospital would call the police in for any gunshot wound and there would be no escaping the consequences. His freedom would be the first thing to go, but that no longer mattered. He'd give up anything and everything so Sam could live.

He reached for the phone.

"Dean. Don't." Sam's voice was barely a whisper.

"I promised I would save you, no matter what."

***

Dean sat on the edge of the bed in stunned silence as the EMTs hovered over his brother. One was forcing air in and out of Sam's lungs with an intubator. Another pierced a vein with an IV needle.

"I've got no pulse!"

It was his father's death played out all over again.

Even the ending was the same.

***

He pushed his brother's unruly hair off his peaceful face. Kissed his lips.

"I'm sorry, Sammy. I already miss you." He leaned his forehead against his brother's. "Maybe it's better this way," he whispered. "One brother in heaven with Mom, one in hell with Dad."

The gunshot echoed in the room and out into the night.

 

~~~End~~~

 

* Quote by J. Michael Straczynski, Babylon 5


End file.
